Wild Spirit Beyond the Cloud
by Gibay
Summary: Mingo's life prior to meeting Daniel Boone
1. Prologue

**The Wild Spirit Beyond the Cloud**

**Prologue**

**April 1782**

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks of rain. Endless rain. Pounding rain. Chota was flooded. The children were upset, tired; the hunters and the younger men were restless. The women were exhausted from trying to quiet the children. The lodges were soaked and the families had moved into the long house. Even the wood supply was wet and the smoke made the babies cry constantly.

Mingo lifted the skins that served as a door and peered out. The world reeked of wetness and humidity. The clouds were low, gray and heavy. There was mud and rivulets of water all around the village. Three lodges, including Mingo's, had collapsed quickly during the first week of rain. Four more went down the following week. Only the unmarried men used the remaining dry lodges to sleep at night. Mingo sighed. Lowering the skins, he went back inside and looked upon his people.

Bright Rainbow came to him with a slightly moldy piece of bannock; there was no more honey. "Won't you eat a little, Mingo, my friend? You've been hunting with the warriors day after day in this rain. You must keep up your strength, friend of my husband." Rain Cloud had not come back yet. He, along with three other men had left the village nine days ago. They had decided to hunt south, hoping for fresh meat after the very long winter.

"What about your children and yourself, Bright Rainbow?" Mingo asked, knowing many were suffering from a deep hunger. The women had no more dried vegetables from last autumn; they were unable to plant for the coming summer and the reserves of the winter were gone.

"Do not worry, Mingo. I have fed my little ones. And we will leave the meat for the smaller children. There are some vegetables left. The wise women will make soup tonight." Rain Cloud's wife was a beautiful woman; she was tall, her hair dark and her eyes bright with a joy for life. She worked hard, as did all the women in the village, but it never deterred her joy or her sunny disposition. She would not let the rain and this painful beginning of spring plunge her into sadness and despair. "Eat first, Mingo. There is plenty of water. I will boil some for your needs. Little Oak's lodge is warm and clean. You'll be able to wash and you'll feel the tiredness leaving your body. Eat, my friend." Bright Rainbow pushed the lump of bread into his hands.

Mingo had come back just a few hours ago; he had been gone for a week. He was exhausted, dirty and, truth be told, very hungry. As he sat down with two other exhausted warriors near a warm fire, the smoke caused his eyes to tear. He chewed slowly on the large piece of bannock she had given him. Warm and fed at last, he felt himself slipping into sleep, dirty as he was.

**April 1757**

Fog. Endless fog. Dampness, rain and interminable fog. Christopher needed fresh air, the woods and the feel of a knife in his hand. He needed to feel the exhilaration of capturing his own meal. He might be allowed o spend the summer on the estate in Wales, if he managed to get high marks and guarantee his father the chance to impress his peers. In Wales, Christopher could hunt to his heart's content, although not quite in the manner he kept dreaming of. Gentlemen must remain gentlemen at all times, after all. Still, the idea of Wales was enough to make Christopher turn his back to the fog outside the French doors of his Father's London's study and face the large oak desk where his homework was laid. His tutor would arrive shortly. If Christopher couldn't show any improvement in his Latin composition, he would be deprived of his summer and he needed his summer in Wales; so he set himself to deciphering this strange tongue.

Christopher was 17 years old; his manners were impeccable, his diction nearly flawless. His tutor had gained Lord Dunsmore's respect rapidly. It had only taken two years for the boy to master the clipped English required of his rank. Christopher had worked hard with his close friend Henry and together the two lads had managed it. They were constantly cheering each other on, helping and relying upon each other.

They would return to Oxford after the summer in Wales. They both had a week away from their old university: a time to catch up on Latin but mostly a time to attend some of London most interesting salons. The young gentlemen of Oxford needed to forge acquaintances in their world, as much as they need to attain all of academia goal.At least, there was a few moment of pleasure to be taken in London.

The next few weeks would burden them both with exams and strict lectures.

In the following fall, Christopher and Henry were going to board in the same room. That would help ease Christopher's pain.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**March 1750**

The spring had come early, too early that year. Water flooded Chota, reserves of vegetables were tainted and many Cherokee became ill.

Talota's fever kept rising; she had lost weight and was unable to drink. One evening of heavy rain with her brother and younger son by her side, Talota went to her happy hunting ground to meet her elders, gone before her. The white husband she had taken to her heart had been gone since before the first snowfall. Her oldest son was living with his father's people. She told her youngest son Mingo of her love for him, and made him promise he would survive in the new world that was coming to the land of his Cherokee ancestors.

Mingo's father returned in May, a few weeks after Talota's funeral and took his young son home to England. The boy was not yet 11-years-old and spoke little of his father's tongue. As soon as he could, the white father he had rarely seen bought him white man's clothing and had his long hair cropped.

They boarded the HMS Emperor in Boston in late June. It took nearly eight weeks to cross the Atlantic and arrive in Liverpool. Mingo's hair had been cut a few hours prior to departure. His Cherokee clothes discarded two days before reaching Boston.

Mingo had even lost his name. In Boston his father ordered him christened in the white religion and he was suddenly called Christopher. He never forgave the older man.

The tall child who walked up the gangplank to share a cabin with his English father was wild and slightly scares, but he was dressed in the fine traveling clothes appropriate for a white boy. The child was sick during the entire journey. He lost weight. When they landed in England at last, he was angry as well as sick. Mingo was used to the ways of the Cherokee where children were precious and well cared for. He had been ignored and even harassed on the trip by his father and by the sailors. He had quickly learned a fact of the white world: children were meant to be seen and not heard, to speak only when spoken to. His English was limited and his father, who spoke Cherokee, had decided not to use it ever again. His son was now an English boy and on his way to his new home.

They rode in a carriage for nearly two day before arriving at the estate where he would spend the coming years learning to read and write, most of his summer enjoying horse-riding and hunting and most of the Christmas holidays. His father was easier on him at that point, showing him the country with pride, teaching him new words daily and making sure he ate well to make up for the lost weight. Mingo's heart rose in hope.

The estate was an old and very large mansion. He was immediately shown to a huge room that would be his. Two small windows faced the manicured lawn. Less than a week later Mingo was introduced to a grey-haired woman after his breakfast. She was his governess, hired to teach him manners, social rules and all that an English gentleman should know. Mistress Carmichael was a dry person; a Bible reader with a strict code of conduct. Mingo disliked her immediately. He crossed his arms in the Indian way, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

Defiance and pride. Mistress Carmichael knew she would crush those quickly. She never thought she would lose such a battle.

In January 1751, Mistress Carmichael left the estate with a huge sum of cash and a promise of a yearly stipend. The money bought her silence; should she ever tell of Mingo's true origin, Lord Dunsmore would destroy her and her credentials forever. As it was, he recommended her to acquaintances of his to raise their young three-year-old daughter. She would turn the young little girl into a proper Englishwoman. Mistress Carmichael left behind a very angry young man who, having learned English rapidly, had told her exactly how he felt about her.

Mister Parker, his tutor, arrived a month after Mistress Carmichael had left. He was a kind man and he managed to transmit his love of the written word by using wit and understanding. He sat with Christopher under the huge oak by the rose garden and taught him the English language by reading to him and having him repeat the names of everything he knew in Cherokee first. Parker was also very strict and as Christopher learned more and more English, he began keeping the boy indoors more. Parker was given the extra duty of teaching Christopher to become the gentleman he was meant to be. But Christopher never lost the habit of crossing his arms and staring down anyone who displeased him. He was still fierce and proud and his father secretly took pride in this part of Christopher's character.

Lord Dunsmore had plans for his son's future and duty to the Crown. With rank and privilege came honor and duty to the Crown. He never noticed that his Cherokee-bred son was dutiful and honor-bound to his own Cherokee blood. Mingo's pride and strength were devoted to growing into a warrior, right under his father's haughty nose. Mingo the Cherokee youth had nothing in common with Christopher, the blue-blooded aristocrat he pretended to be. He kept his Cherokee heart and soul secret from everyone around him

Christopher had his own horse in the stable. Good reports from Mister Parker meant an hour's ride. Books read and discussed meant a weekend of hunting with the gamekeeper.

Mingo made the most of the life he now led. Books were cherished, words were a blessing and knowledge was constantly sought. So with summer and the freedom to roam the forest and the gardens, to hunt and to ride, he reconciled the events which he could not yet control.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The two boys had a great deal in common – both taken away from a family and a way of life a continent away and expected to conform to new rules. They immediately bonded.

Mister Parker had to resort to his stick more than once with these two. Christopher loved reading and Henry had a logical mind. Together they could achieve a lot; they helped each other through their weakness.

But more than anything, getting good reports and praise meant the most. Christopher's father agreed to stable Henry's horse with his. Henry spent all his days at the estate and most of his week-end as well. Together they rode for hours on Sunday after attending church. It became routine to see them studying late at night so they could get Mister Parker's approval on Saturday morning. Henry and Christopher constantly manipulated their tutor but they were learning fast and their intelligence shone throughout all the elements of their education.

A year after Henry's arrival in England, Christopher's father and Henry's grandfather sent the required forms to Oxford. Both young men were well versed in Shakespeare, knew civilities, walked proudly in their gentlemen's attire, rode well, and handled meeting ladies and gentlemen callers at the estate with aplomb.

Lord Dunsmore rarely saw his son stare anyone down with arms crossed anymore.

Henry had been 12, Christopher 13, when they first met.

Lord Christham's carriage had pulled in front of the mansion , on the estate in Wales, a day in mid-july. Christopher was at his father's side, ready to welcome the elderly gentleman and his grandson.

"Christopher, I am allowing you to greet my old friend and to take care of his grandson. You will remain attentive and discreet. I shall give you permission to leave us and to take the boy to his room and then to the kitchen for some nourishment. Do not speak out of turn and act according to your rank. Do not forget your place, my son." John Dunsmore admonished his son sternly, as he inspected his clothes, his hair and his hands.

Staff at the manor had worked hard to make two rooms ready and supply the kitchen with delicacies. Lord Dunsmore had known for a week now of his old friend's arrival; the letter had been short, the older man needed advice on the care of his grandson.

Christopher was curious but managed to keep his face set in his usual mask of polite boredom. The idea of meeting another boy his age, but from his father's throng of friends was far from pleasing. He wondered, not for the first time, about the level of annoyance he might receive from the visiting youth. He dared not hope to find a companion. He expected a young version of the aristocratic adults he knew.

The carriage pulled up. The horses and the coachman were covered in a thick layer of dust. The footman stepped down from his position on the back, and quickly brushed the dust off his uniform. He then went to the right door, opened it, lowered the step, and bowing to his Lordship, invited him down.

The man who descended limped on his left leg, and was in obvious pain. His grey eyes were small and buried under heavy creases, he was much older than Lord Dunsmore. His attire was impeccable. His footman gathered his cane from the carriage and handed it to his master, offering his shoulder as well.

Lord Dunsmore bade the older gentleman welcome, and had his valet carry his luggage to his room. Christopher was sent to the left door, where he was to greet the child and bring him inside.

Christopher opened the other carriage's door, revealing a boy smaller in size and height, with hair too blond, too long, and angry, bright blue eyes.

"Don't touch me!" screamed Henry.

His clothes disarrayed, his body posture was all aggression. The child was completely different from Christopher's expectations.

"I won't touch you. My name is Christopher, and you must come with me. I am expected to show you to your room and then to see to it you are fed," Christopher answered calmly.

"Try to make me. Try it! I will not set foot inside this prison!" Henry raged. He crossed his arms, and stood his ground.

"You are not English, Henry ? You're from the Colonies, I can tell from your accent," said Christopher, unfazed by an attitude he still used every so often himself.

"What's it to you?" countered the younger boy.

Christopher was silent. Telling this strange boy where he was born himself was forbidden. How could he trust him? He didn't know him or why he was here.

"I have been told your name is Henry and that we are about the same age. This is my father's summer home. If you like riding, I will let you ride Oginali, he's my pony. Father gave him to me on my birthday as a reward for good marks," Christopher told the blond-haired boy.

He hoped to bribe this American boy, perhaps gathering some news from his homeland in the process.

Henry's stern look was answer enough. Christopher shrugged off Henry's anger and resentment, and instead said, "If you do all that my father expects of both of us, he will be pleased with me, and you. I am sure I can get Mister Parker to lend me his own horse, and you could saddle Oginali for yourself. There are miles of land behind the garden where we could ride together."

As peace offerings went, it was a wonderful one to Henry, miles from home and family.

"Show me to my room, and I will do as you say for the rest of the morning. But you had better keep your promise, or there'll be the devil to pay if you don't!"

It was Christopher's first promise to Henry. In the next nine years, the two young boys would grow into fine young men and they would always keep their promises to one another. Even if it meant that the parents or tutors had to be fooled or misled in the process.

_Oginali : Cherokee word for friend_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

August 1777, Plains of Abrahams, Ste-Foy, Québec

Mingo followed Henry from a safe distance. His old "friend" had left at dawn from the edge of the St-Lawrence River where he and his men had moored their canoes.

Henry's men had been dispatched by Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie but Henry's fate was to be decided by Mingo.

A branch cracked suddenly, the noise deafening in the silence. Mingo had stepped on a rotten piece of wood, hidden partially by a mound of leaves. Unbalanced, he grabbed at a branch of a maple tree on his left. At his clutching, the branch snapped. Mingo managed to stay on his feet, holding his breath, taking in his surroundings.

Henry had heard him.

The British Major spun around, walking toward Mingo, who remained unseen. "Qui va là? Je suis armé, présentez-vous!" he ordered, thinking a rebellious Canadian was aiming to use him as target practice.

"It is I, Henry. Mingo," answered the tall Indian.

They walked toward one another; Henry holding his silver-handled pistol, Mingo's rifle at the ready.

"So it is, so it is, » said Henry Hartford maliciously, upon finally seeing him.

"What will it be, dear chap? Will you surrender to the King? Be judged as the traitor you are? Or must we face another in the last game of our life?" sneered Henry.

"I will not submit to your king, your regiment or your uniform and you know it. I will not play your game and be used against my father. You will lose all the Christham land, just as you lost your honor." Mingo's voice was fierce, loud, angry.

Both men stood frozen, eyes staring into each other's souls.

Gone were the boys of long ago, who had found solace together in days of grief and exile.

Two men, hardened enemies, faced one another. They would try to kill each other.

Mingo wondered if there was any surviving to be done after all.

"Why, Henry, just tell me why?" Mingo asked at last. The tone of his voice was low and his voice sounded cool and calm but his angry eyes betrayed him. "Have you forgotten all of our youth? Have you forgotten, Henry?" Anger bristled from him. Mingo had pulled his knife, to face an enemy.

"I've forgotten nothing, Christopher, nothing. The friend of my youth was British and he was called 'Christopher'. It sounds to me as if you killed him, Injun !" the major spat back, knife in hand as well.

They circled one another warily, strong, and willing to kill one another in anger and resentment.

In less than 10 minutes, Henry Hartford was unconscious; Mingo found an opening and hit him with the handle of his knife. Mingo tied him with leather bindings. He stood above the man who was the confidant of his London and Oxford life, the friend who had shared Shakespeare and dancing balls, endless nights of studying, bouts of wildness in the dark streets of London, bouts of freedom on the estate in Wales, and talk of their future hopes and dreams.

Mingo raised his arms high above his head and screamed loudly on the Plains of Abrahams, an old farmland, bloodied fifteen years ago by war.

When a friendship dies, a part of the soul leaves the body.

Mid-July 1759

Christopher and Henry played the game of silence and pretense expected by Lord Dunsmore all morning. Now they were roaming the huge domain that would belong to Christopher eventually, on the backs of the horses. Brian Lavery, the stable man, had saddled both horses, at Mister Parker's request. Lord Dunsmore had given his blessing to the boys' ride. Mister Parker followed behind them, on Lord Dunsmore's own stallion, a horse too mettlesome for the boys to manage.

Mister Parker was none too confident of his own ability to control such a strong animal, but it wouldn't do to let his doubts show. He knew Christopher too well by then.

He caught up to the boys as they were tying the bridles of their horses to a tree by the small lake. If he didn't stop them in time, they would undoubtedly undress and start swimming. Christopher knew he could use the lake to his heart's content, although not with others. A gentleman undressed in front of his valet only, and then only in the privacy of his bedroom. Christopher had never learned that lesson.

"Boys, if you absolutely must swim, you will each take a turn. Master Dunsmore, you will stay with me by this tree. You can read the Latin essay you handed me yesterday and tell me where you made mistakes; it is here in my satchel. Master Hartford will swim alone. Then you may swim after he is dry and dressed."

"What if Henry isn't as good a swimmer as I am, Mister Parker? I could help him, I could teach him," answered Christopher.

"Hush, young master. You know the rules. If your young friend cannot swim alone, he must tell us and you may swim while he stays with me," Mister Parker answered swiftly.

"I can swim all right, my pa taught me when I was young. We swam together all the time back home. I don't understand why Christopher and I can't swim together like pa and I did," interrupted the younger boy.

"Young man, you are not living a colonial life anymore. Your rank in England will afford you many privileges but many duties and rules will follow. You will follow them, as per your grandfather's wishes. You either swim alone or you do not swim at all. It is the only choice you have or ever will." Mister Parker tone was final.

The boys shared a look. Swimming together was something they would manage to do; today, they would let Mister Parker have the last word. They agreed politely and each took his turn.

As Christopher read the essay he had written yesterday, his mind started to wander. There was a river near his Indian village and his father, strict Lord Dunsmore, had once taken him there. He removed his heavy British clothing and threw himself in the river. They had spent all afternoon together, splashing, swimming. If Christopher swam as well as he did today, it was because his father, the gentleman, the lord, had once taught him the joy of the water. As Indians did back home.

He sighed. Hoping that his father would ever want to swim with him again, was beyond any possible wish he might make. He dragged his mind back to reading his homework. Henry was playfully splashing around in the river.

Summer 1760

The summer Christopher turned 14, his tutor took him and Henry to London. They would spend three weeks under Madame de la Rochellière's tutelage. She would begin to turn them into gentlemen. Christopher had learned to love reading and he had brought with him his favorite books.

Madame de la Rochellière would teach them manners, dancing and French. She was a sweet, small woman, old enough to be their mother. Both boys liked her, and the perfume she wore pleased them both.

As years went, they would spend more weeks with Madame de la Rochellière. She traveled to Wales during the regular seasons, they came to London in the summer. She told them both that she would attend their first ball and she would make certain they would be ready.

They had discovered the world of women. They found it quite pleasing.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

May 1755

Henry had his birthday in May 1755. As he turned 14, his grand-father decided to offer him his own horse. His grades, his reading, his manners, had improved considerably; he was growing nicely into his British heritage. Henry had been riding Obinaji for the last year, as Christopher had grown too tall and too heavy for the pony. Christopher rode Mister's Parker horse alternatively with his father's stallion.

Henry's grand-father picked a nice mare, three years old, sweet-tempered, easy disposition.

He had been riding for four years, two in the colony and two in the old world.

Lord Dunsmore had spent a great deal of his free time riding with his son. While Christopher enjoyed Henry's presence, the opportunity to ride alone with his father was a great delight.

Lord Christham had asked to stable Henry's new horse at the Dunsmore estate and it had been a total surprise on that second Saturday of May for the two boys to find the brown mare beside Christopher's pony.

Christopher had been sent with Henry to saddle three horses.

"Hurry Henry. Father will come with us today. You know he always let me saddle his horse for him." Christopher eagerly said.

"I know you like riding alone with him. Why don't I go swimming instead and leave you alone with him?" pondered Henry.

Christopher stared dreamily at his friend.

"Yes, I like riding alone with father. He hardly ever came here from attending business in London. Let's make a pact. Today, you are coming with us. He's expecting both of us after all. If he's available next week, you'll decline. Can you agree to this Henry?" answered Christopher.

"Of course. I like riding with your pa. But I know you don't see him often. I know what it is to miss Pa.", confirmed Henry.

"Father. Remember, it's father, not pa. Don't let Mister Parker catch you using the colonial term.", Christopher smiled, and said with a teasing tone.

"You know my father. He asked and expected a lot of me. He doesn't praise. He always expected the best, even when I ride with him. But sometimes, not often, when we are alone, he tells me things or he teaches me things. He was a young lieutenant when he meet my mother." Christopher suddenly stopped. He had never spoken of his mother to his friend.

"Your mother? She was from the colony, like my pa, wasn't she?" Henry took the opportunity to ask. "That's where he meet her, in the colony. You were born there, like me, weren't you?" Henry went on, eager to learn more of Christopher early years.

Christopher had stopped walking, and was looking toward Henry's back, ahead of him, near the stable's door. Talking about his mother was forbidden. Insofar as every one knew, Lord Dunsmore's wife had died in childbirth, a white woman, and Christopher had been raised by another family while his father was building his military career.

"Christopher, Christopher, come quick?" Henry was screaming loudly, having entered the stable, while Christopher was left daydreaming behind.

Christopher snapped his mind back to the present and ran into the stable, pushing his mother's memory in a deep recess.

"What?" he called loudly as he joined Henry into the stable.

In the box beside Obinaji, there was Henry's new horse. A red saddle lay on the fence, black initials on its flank "HC".

"Look, HC. He must be mine. He's mine, doncha think?" Henry in his excitement had reverted back to his Pennsylvania accent. "Only grand-father says I am Henry Christham".

"I know your grand-father says you're a Christham. But your father's name is Hartford." Christopher played off their old argument, Henry being unordinary proud of being a Christham nowadays.

"You know what he thinks of my father." Henry voice was shaking. As Christopher never spoke of his mother, Henry never spoke of his father. Henry bristled eagerly, putting his hand to the new horse neck. "He must be mine, he's mine. You think he has a name?"

"Why don't you go looking for Mister Parker, while I saddle father's horse? It's the only way to know for sure." Mingo was near laughter at this point, Henry was too happy.

Henry ran away quickly and Christopher watched him go, a smile plastered on his feature. After saddling Courage, his father's stallion, he started to groom Obinaji. "Looks like no one is going to ride you my old friend. I will not forget to walk you around."

Lord Christham arrived shortly after the afternoon ride the Dunsmores and his grandson had taken. He stayed over for supper, with the two young men and Mister Parker. Good manners and silence were expected, but the elder gentleman took time wishing the youngest a good birthday.

Late June 1755

John Dunsmore rode beside his son. The lad was quite tall and might even be taller yet. He would be fifteen next week. He kept grooming Obinaji, walked him around the ground, and took good care of him, but he rode Mister Parker's horse or even Courage when John was in London.

Every morning, slightly before dawn, he would get up and groomed both horse. He rode Courage for nearly an hour before attending to his study. Christopher had not been deprived of his morning ride for nearly all of last year. He kept excellent grades, never fought any decisions, showed aptitude in learning different languages and was showing strength in logic and arithmetic. Furthermore, he never fought his father about his family's root, his Cherokee's blood.

"Son, let's stop here, for a while, under this oak." asked John.

"As you wish father", Christopher's tone barely hided his contentment.

They dismounted in the same smooth elegant gestures and tied their horses. Christopher was riding Mister Parker docile horse.

"Yes father", inquired the tall dark-haired youth.

"Mister Parker has spoken to me yesterday evening, after I got here".

"Is anything wrong father?" wondered Christopher.

"I believe there is. Your marks are high. Your attitude is excellent. You never argued with him. And you never argued with me anymore either son. I would proudly say that I am impressed with your accomplishment. However son, I am asking myself what is it you are hiding from your tutor or from me." asked John Dunsmore.

Christopher managed to remain efficiently cool and unaffected by his father inquiry.

"As you have allowed me to ride Courage for most of last year father, I felt your kindness deserves my attendance. I like studying and learning father." Christopher suddenly hesitated. He wondered if he should dare to complete his thoughts. "And I like it when you find the time to ride and hunt with me. I know you are a busy man and I want Mister Parker finding my grades worth mentioning to you." he admitted at last.

John looked his son up and down, watched his eyes, such a deep dark color.

"I am talking about your earlier childhood. The young and wild Indian boy I brought here, where is he Christopher?" bluntly asked John.

This question brought Christopher's cool demeanor to a complete halt. His mask fell. He could not say a word, nor answer.

John started again. "Christopher, I know what I told you four years ago. I know I told you to forget your Indian heritage, not to mention it ever. You are growing into a fine man. There is much about your mother culture that I loved and I cherished her. You have to know this. You cannot share any of this in our world here. Your British heritage must always take precedence. It's the stronger of the two, the only one that matters. You are to be an English gentleman. You are to have privilege and you are to fulfill duties that are important and will have an impact in this country."

John Dunsmore looked deep into his son's intelligent eyes.

"But I remember the child you were Mingo".

Mingo suddenly saw with a clarity that outshone the bright morning, the smile his mother used on him in the morning as they had breakfast together, by the river's edge. She had been tall and dark-haired and sang often during the day, even as she worked hard in the field. His father had used the name she had given him and the memories of his childhood came to him, strong and biting into his soul. The usually reserved youth was shaking inside from the flows of emotions. He kept hoping none was visible.

"Father, you have forbidden me to ever speak on my mother and of my tribe. You have taken away the name she has given me." Mingo said at last, his voice sounding fine, without any trembling.

"Mingo, you are right. You are not to speak of her, or of the Cherokee people. But I am your father, the only one who knows. It's because of her, that you will be able to do great things for England that you are here with me. We cannot forget her, but we cannot speak of her, to anyone." John stopped, evaluating his son's reaction. "However, we can speak of her to one another".

Mingo was silent.

John watched his son. He had his mother's eyes and hair. His complexion had lightened a little, living inside all year round for the last four years. Since his arrival in the foggy rainy country four years ago, he had grown tall, strong. He had learned to read and speak English as a nobleman does. He could speak French to an extent and could read flawlessly according to Mister Parker. In four short years, he had got up in a tight curriculum to other youths who had begun much earlier. His English had been nearly non-existent when they had both landed in Liverpool and he had had no knowledge of the white man world and its written language.

He had been riding Courage, a strong stallion for almost a year. His birthday was coming up and John knew his son was hoping for his own horse.

"Mingo for your birthday, would you like your own horse? Or should I give you Courage?" asked John.

"Would you not ride with me anymore father? Does my Cherokee's blood embarrass you?" Mingo question was full of worry. He didn't know where his father was leading.

"You will never be an embarrassment to me son. There is a legacy for you to claim and only Christopher Dunsmore can do it. Deny your Cherokee blood to the world. Allow Mingo to surface only when we are alone and not too often. Be proud of being Christopher Dunsmore, your mother will not be ashamed of your English's blood. I will ride with you as often as is possible for me. Would you like Courage as your own, or shall we find you one that you could tame?" answered honestly John Dunsmore.

"Courage is a fine horse father. But if you are offering me the opportunity to choose, I would have my own. I will keep up all of my marks and improve them as much as I can. I promise father." Mingo sealed his words with his promise.

Before John could acknowledge the oath, Mingo asked quickly "Could we speak Cherokee once father? As part of my present?"


	6. Chapter 5 A

**Chapter 5 - a**

Septembre 1758

As Christopher got ready to leave for Oxford, for his second year, Mister Parker knocked on his door.

"Christopher, may I come in?" his mentor asked.

"Yes, Mister Parker." came the muffled voice of the young man.

Nigel Parker entered the room and was a little surprised to find his pupil head deep inside his trunk.

"Missing something Christopher?" inquired the elderly man.

"I packed my riding outfit two days ago, but father is arriving this afternoon. We might go riding before I leave." Christopher, now a man, was always looking forward riding with his father. Mister Parker knew this was the only time father and son seemed happy in each other presence.

"My outfit is in my room, I'll get it for you. So close your trunk and come have breakfast with me. I'll be leaving the mansion tomorrow myself. Your father found me a teaching position with a family near Oxford. I will be able to visit you on my day's off.", the grey-haired man looked expectantly at Christopher. "That is, if you want me too, of course".

Christopher threw the lid down heavily, and smiling said quickly "Of course, you can come and see me. NOW, let's go get your outfit, I want to be ready and the horses saddled when father arrive".

As they left the room together, Christopher suddenly realized the implication of what Mister Parker had said. "You're leaving the estate? You're going away?"

"Christopher, you don't need me anymore. Last year, I stayed here, while you were gone; your father had agreed to let me teach some of the villager's children in the back shed, while waiting for your vacation time when I could give you extra tutoring. But I have to move on now. You don't need me anymore." There was finality in the tone.

Christopher looked at the man who had spent so many years with him, had not just thought him to read and write, but had shown him how to adapt. Beside his father, Nigel Parker was the only one in England who knew the truth about Christopher's origin.

"Nigel, if you're not my tutor anymore, I can call you as a friend does, may I?" asked Christopher.

"I would be honored if you would consider me a friend", Nigel Parker knew this young man had a title to uphold and that friendship was not going to be between them. Still he had known a wild Indian boy, who knew barely enough English and refused all about living inside and spending time on lesson. Riding had always been the keys to everything. Christopher had loved learning, even if he would probably never admit to it.

"Do you want to ride with me and father? I will look for my outfit." Offered Christopher spontaneously, although he knew he would not see his father until the Christmas vacation.

"No child, go ride with your father. Return to your root with him. Be this wild Indian boy I remember." For the very first time, Mister Parker acknowledged what was truly between us. Without malice.

"You will always keep my secret, won't you Nigel? Even if I became a fool like many of those students with me at Oxford?"

"Always child, always, to my grave. You have been a wonderful youth, a bright mind, and a delight to teach"

"Even when I threw everything in the study at you?" laughed Christopher, who also remembered those hard memories.

"Even then, Christopher".

They had reached Nigel Parker smaller room, a floor above. Mister Parker retrieved his well worn outfit for his commode and handed it to the taller youth.

"The pants will be short on you"

"I made you ride with me so often, and you don't like it, do you?"

"Well, that's the one thing I won't miss".

"Nigel, can I ask you one thing?"

"Anything in my power to answer Christopher"

"My name is CaraMingo. My Cherokee name, the one my mother, Talota, gave me at birth. That's how every one in my tribe use for me until she died. Everyone called me Mingo, my friends, my uncle, mother. Would you, just once, call me Mingo please?"

The teacher looked at the tall man in front of him, frowning a little.

"You are happy being an English gentleman, aren't you?" Slight hesitation. "Mingo?"

Christopher suddenly disappeared completely in front of Nigel Parker. This youth in front of him was just like the child he had meet these many years ago, born of nature and forest and stream. In front of Mr. Parker stood Mingo, a young Cherokee man, hardly fitting the silk he was wearing.

"You are not!"

It was not a question, but a statement, from the elder gentleman, the mentor of Christopher Dunsmore, who was suddenly facing the last mistake he ever made in his life – transforming a child into a man he wasn't meant to be.

"I hope still. I hope to see and live in my village, by my uncle's side, hunting, and living free. I hope to see the day I can dress as my mother dressed me, of wearing buckskin, leather, moccasins and feathers. I do not regret all the learning you have given me; I love books and music and knowledge. But I want to live as a Cherokee does. I am Cherokee, Nigel".


	7. Chapter 5 B

** Chapter 5 – B **

Mid-December 1758 – Oxford University

Lady Oswell had invited a few of the young gentlemen of Oxford to the last ball before Christmas. Her niece Angelica had been attending since the season began all the proper ball. She had learned that Lord Christham grandson and Lord Dunsmore's son were both attending Oxford and had been allowed to attend balls and social events this year.

Both of these young men were quite the match , if she could get one of them to be interested in Angelica there would be favor to be gain.

She had one of her maid placed near the butler and as soon as those two young men, she would be notified. She had made sure that Angelica was dressed as appropriately to attract either one of them.

The weather outside was unusually warm for December. Henry and Christopher had walked the few blocks from their dormitory to the house of Lady Oswell. They wore warm cloaks, lined with thick furs. Neither one seemed to mind the cold that much. Henry was very excited. Starting Monday, they had multiples exams to fill and then, they would head on to the Dunsmore's estate for a whole fortnight. Tonight ball was a well deserved in their life, professors had thrown a lot of homework and studies their way. Christopher had told Henry at the beginning of the term that he didn't intend to go back after the end of the summer term.

Christopher asked Henry as they neared the manor "Are you ready for the history exams on Tuesday?"

"Well, as much as I could. I asked Mrs. Burton if she could lend the appropriate literature and I have been reading all she gave. You know that she is on very good term with the professor. I might just work in my favor." Henry always felt that with the right connection, he could get away with getting enough of the required grades to please his grandfather. "You still want to tell your father about not returning to the university next fall?" this news was distressing Henry. He had not thought about the Colonies in a long time, having learned to enjoy his life in the British Empire.

"I will take all I can from the next semester. I like my books, I like learning. But it's time to leave this behind as well. I remember your youths Henry; you also wanted to go home."

"Home seems to me like it's here now. Your father and you don't fight anymore. You'll have a grand time at Christmas this year and you know it. But let's forget about this. Let's think of the dance tonight. Remember Levina Duncan, she told me she was keeping a dance in her carnet for me. I …. I .. I mean eh …" although Henry was used to tell everything to Christopher, he started to stammer. He was only a year younger, but at times, he seemed like a much young man.

"You mean to say you like her and hope she will keep her promise?" smiled benevolently Christopher.

"You know. But you too, don't you? You like to dance with these young pretty ladies as well. And you had a grand time with Miss McLeay last month if I recalled correctly".

"Father had written to me before hand. He had told me to make sure she was happy at the dance, and to help her fill her dance carnet full. I meet her four years ago remember, I think you saw her once. Her parents and her spent a whole weeks at the estate and I had to help ride her pony every day. She does not do a thing for me. This woman can't do anything but order her maid around." Christopher had no sympathy for most of the young ladies of his class.

"But you will be charming them all as usual tonight. I've seen you with them. You smile at one of them and they are all under your spell." Henry teased Christopher good-naturedly. He knew that his friendship with Lord Dunsmore's son made him as interesting as being his grandfather heir.

Their two summer of dancing lessons had paid up too; they were both excellent dancers and they love music. Christopher had taken to learn the violin as well as adding to his dance lesson, while Henry contented himself with attending as many plays with him as they could crammed between their homework and the season's attendance to all the proper parties. Father and grandfather regularly wrote and made sure the proper invitation were send their way. They were too far from London during the school year, but there would be two Christmas balls in London they would attend before heading to the estate.

Christopher walked up to the step on Lady Oswell's manor, making sure he was free of dust and properly groomed. He did the same to Henry's outfit. Then he took grand pleasure to use the heavy knock on the door.

"Master Dunsmore, Master Christham, welcome. Lady Oswell was pleased you could attend her ball tonight. If you want to give me your hats and cloaks?" Elmer, Lady Oswell's butler, was a distant cousin of Nigel Parker, Christopher's old tutor; he had come to visit the estate during his vacation and had taken a liking to Henry Christham early on.

The young maid at the door quickly ran to her mistress to let her know about the arrival of the two young men.

The young men entered the great hall, smiling and extending their hands to gentlemen in the circle on their fathers. Whispers were heard by elderly women as they directed their steps toward the buffet table. Impeccable of dress and manners, these young gentlemen were nevertheless students living under the tight budget allocated to them. Food was always a major attraction at first.

Lady Oswell walked toward them after they had made themselves happy with platters and goblets of sweet red wine.

"Master Dunsmore, May I introduced my niece Angelica", she said smiling, moving slightly to the right to let the pretty young woman advanced, head bowed, clutching her tiny handbag. She was dressed in a lovely gown of very light pink, her blond hair shiny and full of ringlets adorning her small visage.

"Miss Oswell, it is my pleasure!" said Christopher, extending his right hand to lift her gloved one and he delicately pressed his lip to the fine glove. He smiled at her, cordially. "May I request the pleasure of a waltz with you this evening my lady?"

The young lady blushed demurely and nodded politely.

Christopher took this as it was. Her carnet was probably quite empty. He nudged Henry discreetly with his left foot. "May I introduce my dear friend Henry Christham?"

Henry took his clues and repeating Christopher's action to perfection asked her as well for a waltz. Angelica answered that she would be delighted to dance the second waltz with Master Christham.

Christopher had taken the opportunity during Henry's little chat with Angelica, to invite their hostess to a dance as well. Lady Oswell accepted to dance with the young gentleman for the second waltz.

As the two ladies left the young men, two more youths came to join them. Robert Fraser, who was a fellow student, asked Christopher how he had managed to get the first waltz from Angelica. It had been obvious her carnet had been empty. Henry sniggered, realizing that Lady Oswell had her mind set of John Dunsmore's son for her niece.

"You know these young ladies; they always know ahead who they are going to dance with. We are stuck, asking and remembering the order of all these dances without this benefit", laughed Henry good-naturedly. He was not known to dance all evening at these events; he made sure however to have the right lady on his arm at least once an evening. Everything happening to these balls always was known to their parents after all.

Shortly after their arrival, the pianist stopped playing solo and stood to greet his fellow musicians. Young ladies sat themselves alongside the wall by the French windows. Young men and older gentlemen approached those they had previously asked. The first waltz began with the soft tones of violins.

Christopher approached Angelica, elbow bent appropriately; she rose from her seat and followed him to the middle of the floor. He led her graciously and she followed him in light steps. But more so, she was showing suddenly a bright streak in conversation. She was vivacious and full of smile and it all seemed to shine naturedly. He ended up having a wonderful evening, coming back as often as decency allowed to dance some more with her.

They had reserved a coach to return to their dormitory; it was the one luxury they could get away with it. John Dunsmore wanted his son to be known in the right circle and to be in attendance at all the proper events. So he did granted this special allowance without questions.

Henry could not wait for them to reach their rooms; he had noticed his friend's pleasure at dancing with the lovely Angelica.

Henry could not have predicted how this burgeoning relationship would change things between them. But more than a woman in his friend's life, he could not fathom the secret he would hold soon.


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Christmas Eve 1758

Henry and Christopher arrived at the Dunsmore Estate. Their bristling energy and unending hunger was soon felt throughout the large home. Cook was delighted to have them coming into her kitchen, ravaging her pantry. She would deny it, of course, but the two young men were dear to her and had brought her news and presents from London. Henry and Christopher had spent two days in London, right at the end of the term. Lord Dunsmore and his son had been invited for supper at the Oswell family home. Christopher was introduced to Angelica's parents and spent his meal chatting with the young lady. After dinner he was invited to join the gentlemen for cigars and brandy. His father had heard from the headmaster himself: Christopher's grades were nearly faultless. Christopher had a tendency to augment the history of the Colonies, but it was expected his professor would break him of it by the end of the year.

John Dunsmore looked favorably toward Angelica. Her father was a peer of the kingdom, after all, and she was his only child. She was bound to inherit a large estate with a large fortune as well. It seemed to John as if Christopher would not be reticent about calling on her.

Henry had spent his two days at his uncle's home. The man was quite talkative and entertaining, but he was also rather foolish in many of his endeavors. Henry had a good time with his mother's brother, but nevertheless could not wait to head to Wales and the Dunsmores'.

John, Christopher and Henry had gone together from London to Wales. They had left quite early and made a pleasant trip. They stopped for a warm meal at an inn along the way.

When Henry left the Dunsmores alone to refresh himself, John took the opportunity to check if his son was favorable toward Angelica. Christopher's positive answer made him quite proud. He promised his tall, dark-haired son that he would ride with him, weather allowing, on Boxing Day.

Christopher smiled. He knew exactly what the ride implied and he already cherished the words of Cherokee he would be allowed to share with his father.

They arrived at the estate and as soon as Henry and Christopher had replenished their energy with cook's excellent food, they quickly went to groom their horses.

"Do you think we could ride before supper?" asked Henry.

"No," Christopher shook his head. "Father is tired from the long ride. He will be expecting ups dressed and ready at eight sharp. We better make sure of it." Christopher was quite cheerful, thinking of Boxing Day much more than Christmas. Christmas had never meant much to him. Despite his official Christianity, the young man had never deserted his mother's faith. But riding with his father was still, despite approaching manhood, something he cherished. He knew now in his heart he would be able to leave England sooner than later. Growing into a man made him realize the choice and possibilities ahead of him. Still, the few moments of tranquil peace and honesty with his father were dear to him.

Christopher spoke Cherokee daily in prayers and reminiscences, alone in his room, but he never heard it spoken back to him except in those few hours a year. He looked up from brushing Courage and asked Henry suddenly, "Will you go back home later in your life?"

Surprised, Henry didn't answer right away. "Why should I? My uncle will inherit my grandfather's estate, but I am bound to receive a fair share of money and even a good position. I like the life here. Things are better here," he said at last.

"Better here? What about your parents? You received what, three letters this year? And the freedom of growing up in the vast land over there, never needing permission to hunt, swim or ride? Don't tell me you don't miss it," said the son of John Dunsmore.

"Dirt, filth, Indian attacks, cold winter, hard work – why would I miss it? No fine clothes, no fine books, no courting, dancing or balls. What's there to miss? You've been here two years longer than me. Don't tell me you still think about the Colonies. And you've got no one there at all. Why would you go back? Unless you chose a military career while waiting for your own lordship and make sure the colonists remain loyal to the crown. Yes, you could make a name this way, I guess. Still…going back? Never." Henry was adamant.

"Indian attacks? Do you fear the Indians?" Christopher had heard his friend's tone when he had said the word 'Indian". Christopher had never spoken of his childhood. He just filtered what his father wanted people to know: a mother who had died and an unnamed family who had taken care of him while his father was attending to his military duty, and a return to England to his well-deserved place in this world. "Indians are not what they teach us in our history of the Colonies. You know that. You heard me debating the professor," Christopher went on.

"I also heard what they told you," Henry laughed. All the professors at Oxford knew Christopher's point of view about the people living in the Colonies and how he kept on defending the Indian savages.

"Do you think I am wrong then? You and I lived in the colony in our childhood. Have you seen an Indian attack? Have you seen Indian Savages?" asked Christopher, in a tone quite serious, devoid of any humor.

"I remember mama being scared. My father had us living in a cabin. A cabin Christopher? Is that where you lived too? But we used to live in Philadelphia in a real house when I was born. Mama was happy and safe there. But father gave up his commission and", Henry was slightly angry. Christopher stopped him right there "You father was an officer too?"

"Yes he was a Lieutenant, and he could have come home to England and get a promotion and a good career. But he gave up his commission and moved us out of Philadelphia into a wood cabin far away from everything." Anger had gone into bitterness.

Christopher noticed it and asked, more gently than before "You were angry when you came here. You wanted to go back there. It made me feel like you enjoyed your life there."

"I though I did. Now I understand what my grandfather is saying. This is not a life for my mother, or for me. We are born for better things", head suddenly lifted high. Henry was five inches shorter than Christopher and to show his pride in his English lifestyle, he stood straighter and glared quite fiercely into his friend's eyes.

"Well, I also lived in a wilder area; I guess a wilder way too. But I still want it. And I know something about the Indians, there are not the savages depicted in our history classes." Christopher was very adamant and was also glaring back into Henry's piercing eyes.

"You didn't even live with kin. Strangers in a strange land. What's it to you? Look at you now. Fine clothes, fine living. You'll be the toast of London in the spring, you are connected to all the right people and you're bound to inherit quite a fortune, not to mention lands and titles."

"I lived with family. I lived with my mother until she died of a bad fever. I was 10 years old. Father had not been to see us for five months. She had been buried 2 months when he picked me up for my uncle's lodge and took me to Boston. "

"You had no family in the colony. Everyone knows it. You've said it often enough – why the lies now?"

Both young men were angry at each other and Christopher didn't want to leave it at that.

"I am an Indian. I am a Cherokee, like my mother and my uncle. And I lived in my village, near the river, in Ken-ta-tee, from the day I was born until father took me away. I hardly spoke English, wore buckskin and had long dark hair. I ran freely, hunted with my uncle and the other braves."

Christopher stopped himself at this moment.

Silence stunned them both. Silence. Fear.

Christopher couldn't quite trust what happened. Could he trust Henry?

They looked at one another, in shock, in dismay. Some words can't be taken back. Christopher hesitated.

"I am now an Englishman, like my father. But I remember Henry. Will you keep my secret?" Christopher dropped the brush which with he was grooming Caramel and extended his right hand toward Henry.

"I …", Henry stammered. He was thinking, reliving five years of friendship, balancing them, and weighing them. "I will keep your secret. But you will refrain from speaking about Indians from now on, and that includes in classes." He had not extended his own hand. He stood waiting.

Christopher loved his root and he loved his father. He was not ready to create a scandal and offended him.

"I will not speak of Indians again."

Henry extended his arm, and they shook warmly, if with a timidity they never had felt before.

Author's Note : On October 12th, 2007, I've updated/modified both the Prologue and Chapter 1. If you read them prior to this date, you might consider checking the small changes I made. Thank you, Johanne


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Christmas Day 1758

The day rose with a grey mist. A somber mood. In the parlor, a huge fire was brightly alight. Henry and Christopher had avoided one another, each taking breakfast in their own rooms, much to the displeasure of the maids. But with a warm luncheon set on tables, with John Dunsmore expecting both lads, they had had no choice.

The secrecy, far from allowing the long standing friends to get closer, had made them jumpy. Christopher had slept badly and his dislike of the Christian holiday was harder to hide. He came down dressed for the day, walking in the parlor with an aggressive stride, unsmiling. His father noticed it right away as they were alone for the moment, walked toward him. He murmured softly, least the staff heard them "It's Christmas my son; you know better than to sulk today".

Christopher didn't answer.

John went to the cabinet and lifting a glass bottle offered his son a bit of brandy.

"Before we eat Father?" there was a bit of irony in Christopher's tone.

"If the day calls for it." Lord Dunsmore shrugged his shoulder. He turned his head when he heard some light steps in the hallway.

"Ah Henry, at last. We will leave at 2 o'clock for mass", he said changing the subject, thinking that Christopher's mood was about due to the Christmas Day. "We'll have a private supper tonight. Your uncle will bring your grandfather Wednesday, in time to celebrate the New Year together."

Lord Dunsmore handed a brandy to Henry as well; the first time ever. Just like a stepping stone into adulthood.

"Would you two young men wish to open your presents now?" he spoke again into the silence. John Dunsmore was used to a lot of turbulence from the two young men, he was mildly surprised to see Henry as subdued as his son.

Henry nodded with a smile, Christopher dared to look angry in his father face.

Alexander, the butler, walked in at this moment, announcing to the three men that luncheon was served in the dining room.

Christopher thanked him, politely, but told him to wait 10 minutes. He pushed Alexander out of the parlor, closed the door and turning toward both men, fiercely went on. "Father, I told Henry the truth yesterday. Now, that he knows, might I be excused from attending the Christian mass. No one will be the wiser. You know how much I dislike Christmas."

Lord Dunsmore was aghast.

Christopher breathed for about a half-minute and then continued his discourse.

"I will, of course, attend all the other rituals you want me too. But allow me the dignity of refusing to attend mass with you Father. Henry, you will remember the promise you made me yesterday. I think you could swear an oath on Father's Bible; he will feel better about it."

Lord Dunsmore looked at Henry Hartford-Chrisham, with a strong composure and a cool demeanor.

Henry had recovered his wits enough by then.

"Of course, I will. Lord Dunsmore, Christopher's secret is safe with me. I will never speak of it. I will swear the oath he asked for, if you request it, my Lord", volunteered the young student, old friend of Christopher.

Lord Dunsmore shook his head.

"No need young man. If Christopher trusts you, then I trust you." he purposely stated, watching his son face with a deep honesty.

It was now up to Christopher.

He smiled, easily overcoming his own negative sentiments.

"It's settled then. I will not attend mass; I will help Alexander supervising everything we need for a nice family supper. I don't need any presents today Father. Whatever you picked for me, you can give to one of your many cousins' sons. I respect your faith Father, yours Henry. But I am not a Christian, however many classes you put me through in the last 8 years." Christopher's tone with serene; his spirit suddenly lifting and a weight removed from his cloudy soul.

Lord Dunsmore poured more brandy. As he handed his son his refill, he took a minute to squeeze his right shoulder tightly.

"Let's go and eat. Cook will be mad at us, if we spoil her meal", the elderly gentleman hid it well, but his son stand, had made him proud.

He walked toward the door, inviting his son and his son's close friend to pass in front of him.


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**January 9 **

**A very small layer of ice covered the stream. Christopher tied his horse's reign to the branch, and walked around the ground, searching. It took him only a few minutes to find what he was looking for, a sturdy stick that he used to break the ice... Both horses were thirsty and greedily satisfied their thirst. Henry was leaning against a tree, his back braced against it. They had ridden hard and fast, despite the cold. Their scarves were rolled into the neck of their coats, their cheeks reddened by the brisk wind. They would let the horses rest a while, before heading back to the stables. The sun was dark, the clouds were low.**

"**I think it will be colder this night and there might even be snow in the morning", stated Christopher coolly, with a small smile.**

**Henry simply nodded in acquiescence.**

"**I like the snow, I miss it. There is never enough snow in this country." He added. **

**This time, Henry shook his head in disagreement.**

"**No, I don't miss it. Our house was never warm enough; the morning were the worst, the fire having died at night" he reminisced.**

"**In our village, the families would move into the long house. Children would huddle together. I had a friend, Rain Cloud." Christopher left his sentence hanging, noticing Henry's reticence.**

**The silence fell between the two men.**

**Henry's horse neighed and it broke the strand; Christopher asked "I would like to invite Angelica to father's house in London. I could have him organize a ball; I believe father would like it if I asked him".**

"**Unless I am mistaking, you like her a lot more than your father does?" Henry was glad of the change of subject. As long as Christopher was acting like he always did, as the heir of Lord's Dunsmore, as his old friend, Henry was relieved.**

**January 12 – Oxford**

**Christopher had sent his card to her aunt and had received a letter granting him permission to call on her next Friday, for tea, at 3 pm. He made arrangement immediately for a rented coach to pick him up at 2; for his coat to be brushed clean by the lady who was cleaning Henry and his' room. He even made sure to have his favorite piece of cloth around neck well ironed out. This was an afternoon depleting a month's worth of expense. He wondered idly if he should ask his father for a higher stipend – if he intended to become one of her regular suitor, he wondered how his budget would fare. **

**Henry told him not too worry, he had a little more to spend every month and was willing to cover the extra expenses.**

**At five minutes to 3, the driver of the coach pulled in front of Lady Oswell Oxford's cottage; Christopher stepped out eagerly. **

**He pulled a pence from inside his pocket.**

"**Here my good man, for getting me on time", he said, as he handed him the coin with a slightly shaking hand.**

**The liveried man bowed, lifted his reigns and went away.**

**Left to his device, Christopher took a deep breath, and then a second one. He stared in the clear blue sky, took a step forward and went to the fenced in yard.**

**He walked up the steps, three steps, a little icy on the right side. It was a clear cold day, brisk and humid as England could be before January left. Time was ticking. He raised his glove right hand, checked his coat one last time, touched his hair, and then vigorously grabbed the doorknob and tapped strongly on the thick oak door.**

**He didn't have to wait long; Mister Hammond came to the door. Lady Oswell's butler and manservant was an fine elderly man, smart grey eyes in a thickly wrinkled face.**

"**Mister Dunsmore, may I take your coat", he asked soberly, noticing and harrumphing on the lack of a hat. "Lady Oswell and her niece are in the parlor."**

**As soon as he had hung the fine woolen dark blue coat on the hanger by the door, Mister Hammond lead the young man toward the second door on the left. **

**Angelica was sitting in a small chair, a piece of tissue in her hand, a needle in the other. As Mister Hammond walked into the parlor, she started to blush. Christopher Dunsmore had sent his card last week, requesting to visit and she hadn't sleep well, thinking of meeting him as a suitor at last. Her aunt was sitting by the window, a book of poetry in hand. The nice smell leather of the cover, the brisk turning of page, had been the only constant in the afternoon. Sun was streaking from the large window, the thick golden drapes having been opened to let the sky and light flowed through.**

**Mister Hammond announced the young man arrival.**

**Christopher walked in, formally bowed to Lady Oswell, addressing her in a smooth voice "My lady, I am charmed to be here. I hope you had a good Christmas with your family and friend."**

**He didn't look at the charming green-eyes young woman and wouldn't until Lady Oswell decided to allow him to.**


	11. Chapter 9

"Come here young man, I want to introduce you to some dear friends

"**Come here young man, I want to introduce you to some dear friends." Said Lady Oswell as she took his arm and lead him in the room.**

**Christopher spent nearly the next hour talking to fine older ladies in the social circle of Lady Oswell; some he knew vaguely, they were wife of some of his father's acquaintances. He chatted politely, exchanging greetings and form of politeness, social graces of the social circles he was part of. And then at last, Lady Oswell came to liberated him. She had left him with an aging cousin, an elderly woman, unmarried, whose only pleasure in life was to monopolize youths when they came calling on the young ladies.**

**She brought him near the refreshment table, where her niece was sipping delicately from a fine crystal goblet.**

"**Miss Oswell, my homage" he said bowing his head slightly and raising his hand in order to lift her hand toward him. He barely touched her skin with his lips, letting his fingers linger an extra moment, to feel the softness. "I would be obliged to you if you would let me have a dance with you later tonight."**

**Angelina lifted her green eyes up, and smiled at the tall man who spoke so softly to her. She had meet him once before, it would be their first dance together. **

**The evening flew, outside the rain began in earnest; at one point, the two young people sat behind a potted tree near the arched stairs, away from the ballroom. Christopher dared to hold her hands as they chatted amiably with one another.**

**He wanted to know everything about her, her hopes and dreams, her favorite color and her favorite dessert. She wanted to know what he was studying for, if he would ride with her in the large park by the river.**

**Henry came and broke the enchantment between them. They had been left on their own far too long for propriety's sake and Lady Oswell was getting ready to dismiss the musicians.**

**Both young men gave their thanks, Christopher left his card – he hoped to call on Angelica by next Sunday morning.**

**Chapter 9**

**It was a courtship that was met with approval by all – Lord Dunsmore sent his own card to Lady Oswell; Lady Oswell sent a formal diner invitation to father and son.**

**Oxford students spoke of nothing else – Dunsmore's heir, the quiet one, who befriended no one, who acted as if his future was not meshed with all the other students and their families, suddenly was smiling during classes. Henry was stoic and faithful by his friend's side, defending him behind his back. Christopher's entrance to Oxford had been facilitated by his father, just like all the other students. However, his constant studying, and his absence of social contact with the fellow of his classes had quickly made him stand apart. **

**Now, the whirlwind romance, the dating, the social attendance, the proper etiquette with everyone, was having the reverse effect. Before, they avoided him yet remembered constantly where he would stand in their future. Now, they shunned him openly for his attitude, they refused his sudden overture to be included. Angelica wanted to fit in society.**

**Christopher did not notice that the students he was suddenly trying to form friendship with, were dismissing him. He was centered fully on Angelica and while the potential of such an union was not lost on his father, when John Dunsmore received a letter from the dean about failing grades and attitudes problems, things started to spin out of control.**

**Angelica made quite an impression on Christopher's father; she was a bright woman, attentive to the discussion without infringing on it; with delightful manner and a strong sense of etiquette and belonging to her social place. What did not please John Dunsmore however, was how his son behaved more and more centered on the young lady, without restraint and common sense. John had visited the dean with Christopher when the second letter arrived. **

**Christopher had missed classes, exams and was not serious about homework assignment as he used too. He was failing mathematic and would not be admitted in the**** engineer**** class his father had decided for him.**

**The double-side edge of Christopher and Angelina relationship was troublesome to the elder Dunsmore. Henry found the whole thing quite amusing; he felt that at last, his childhood friend would stop dreaming of the colony and would stop talking of his mother's ancestry. Henry had been troubled since Christopher had shared his birth with him.**

**Christopher however was very passionate toward the young lady, he wanted to know more of her, and share more of himself; Deep inside, he just counted hours and days, gauging when would be the best time to propose and offer her the life plan he hoped for : returning to his root, with his white wife.**

**Henry stood by, hearing the fight between father and son go on and on. **

**John had been in Oxford for nearly a week now. He was lodging at the gentleman's club River Red. Lord Christham was a member and had sent ahead a footman of his household to reserve a room for Dunsmore. John had met the dean and nearly half of Christopher's current curriculum professor. **

**He even went to visit Lady Oswell, and try to stop the two youths to court. This potential match between two excellent families was not turning out as it should. **

**Christopher had stormed off in the night after one too much remonstrance from his father. Henry followed at a quick run, trying to stop him, trying to bring his to his sense.**

**New as of April 18****th****, 2008**

**Henry himself caught up with his friend, at the home of a fellow of theirs. William McIntyre's mother was receiving that evening and she had the best conversations and the best musicians in attendance. William was in Christopher's World History class, he was sharing a room with two other youths and as in parents lived in Oxford, he would often skipped his cramped quarter to visit his family's room. He had often taken Christopher with him, his mother wishing to meet Lord Dunsmore's heir. Every gentlewoman in Oxford had a daughter, a niece or a cousin of marriageable age and it was their duty to be on the lookout for the best potential match. Christopher was always welcome in her salon as such.**

**Henry announced himself, producing a card out of his wallet; he was as unexpected as Christopher yet as welcome. After having made his congratulations to their impromptu hostess, he went directly to his fuming angry friend.**

"**Christopher, time to go back to our lodging. I shall write your father in the morning, reassuring him that you'll attend all classes. Mister Parker can tutor you every week-end; he already hired him, until you catch up. Once your grades get back up, I am sure he will allow you to resume your courtship of Angelina. Come now"**

**Christopher stood tall. He crossed his arms, enveloping his long slender frame; his frock was a dark velvety red and for once, Henry saw how dark his usually paler longing friend was. He was hit with a reality he had refused to acknowledge before.**

**He was eight years old, in his rural Pennsylvania; his two young friends, children living nearby and he were throwing pebbles in the stream. Suddenly breaking their games, a loud scream and a rush in the wind, brought their fathers bearing rifles and admonishing to get back inside the closer cabin. He remembered vividly the wild savages rushing the men, the fear he had felt making him shiver while looking at this gentleman friend of his – Christopher was one of those savages wild of the Colonies. Henry was stunned. He had not remembered meeting any Indians in his youth, had meant it when he had told Christopher. **

**Things changed for him that day. That suddenly he could remember the fear and the moment and the anger toward whites in his native country allowed him to see the truth of his friend. Things changed that day: for Henry, the friendship was severed. He would not confide, nor shared this.**

**Christopher never knew. He was buried so deep in pain of love. Would Angelina agree to his foolhardy plan?**


	12. Author

Author's note :

Saturday, September 8th, 2007.

I am still working on the editing process of The Tattered End of Trust; a good friend is helping me. It's a lots of hard work for any native of the English language, considering my prose. So there it is. At one point, I will let you know about the updated about The Tattered End of Trust.

I, however, have a problem with Wild Spirit. I write faster that is good for me. There is just so much a spell-check in English can do for me.

If anyone out there, has a lot of available time - right now - to help me. I know how frustating reading me can be; I need so much editing, and help with grammar and all that jazz. I am very aware of the help I need. My posting my stories out here , is not because my ego is screaming for me to do it. It's that those stories come out and I haven't got a web page to store them safely. Being I.S. , having gone throught six computers in the last 13 years, having lost stories, pictures before, I find I enjoyed the safety net that gives. Doesn't mean ONE BIT - that I disrespect readers.

I need help with my English, my grammar and my punctuation and I need it much too fast for anyone. Yet, I keep on writing.

Anyone understanding this to be a honest plea for help - please answer. I wish for my stories to be understood. Therefore the reading might be enjoyable, if the contents and the vision I have please you.

Thanks, Johanne - jojoannsympatico.ca

Friday, July 20th.

At this point in time, while I know how the story ends and where it would take Christopher (aka Mingo or the reverse) and Henry, I have no plan to finish it.

I intend to get back into it by the fall, when my life will settle and work will be less hectic and when I can reconcile myself with this fandom.

Mingo is my favourite character. He was when I was 12, he still is. There is a deep connection in my life, many events I lived through, that came as direct decision to learn more about the Indians way of life in my country.

The impact lasted into all of my adult life.

It's not for me to share here, it's a fiction site. At this point, the only place I can actually share, is not where I can exchange about it.

I will finish Wild Spirit in the fall of 2007, hopefully before Christmas, when family life becomes hectic and is mixed with a harder work schedule.

I want to thank those that have helped me , offered me support, consideration, friendship.

Johanne, vendredi 20 juillet 2007, Montréal, Qc


End file.
